


timeless

by iidkkdii



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: 50s era, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Homophobia, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, homophobic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-22 07:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iidkkdii/pseuds/iidkkdii
Summary: their souls are entwined.





	timeless

a boy running through a field, tiny white and blue flowers stuck in his wild black hair, laughing with his best friend next to him. their feet pound into the dirt path, brown boots kicking up dust behind them. 

the boy with the flowers is finn, a young boy with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. the boy next to him is jack - his best friend. they'd grown up together, and they'd die together. 

world war two is on the horizon, but these boys don't need to worry about the frontlines just yet. they're only fourteen and fifteen, respectively. they needn't worry about war for another three or so years. 

the boys yell about conan and the lone ranger, pretending to be cowboys and barbarians. 

"hi-ho, silver!" finn whoops, grabbing jack's hand who grins and shouts, "away!" 

promptly five years later, gone are the field and the flowers. jack is twenty and enlisting in the army. finn enlists right beside him, standing tall at nineteen years old. both of their hearts pound. 

their hearts pound together in sync as they lock finn's bedroom door, shut the drapes and share countless secret kisses. they laugh against each other's lips, hands slipping over dirty work clothes, through greasy hair. 

they die alone on the battlefield, bleeding and crying for each other. finn passes due to a bullet finding its way into his heart, much like jack did. 

\--

the year in 1955 somewhere in the midwest. his name is richard, but he goes by rich. his best friend is dylan. neither of their looks have changed. 

rich has that crazy curly hair, freckles across his face and those knock-em-dead blue eyes. dylan has a sweet sloped nose and plush lips, ones that rich could look at all day. 

"tell you what, dylan, we'll go to the diner, have dinner and i'll drive you home," rich says, lighting a cigarette, leaning against his car. 

dylan rolls his eyes and leans forward for rich to light his cigarette too, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. leaning back, he takes a long drag. "you don't gotta keep driving me home, rich, you know i can walk from the diner to my house." 

"well, then, what kind of friend would i be?" rich says, winking behind his shades. "a damn bad one, dylan." 

rich opens his car door and gets in, telling dylan to do the same. soon enough, dylan is sitting next to him, fidgeting with his hands. 

rich smiles, reaching and running his hand up dylan's arm. "relax. nothing's wrong." 

dylan touches rich's hand gently and removes it, looking around anxiously. a few days before, a couple of boys had gotten beaten and the police had done nothing about it. those boys were never seen again, and some speculated they'd died. 

"no one knows, dylan, okay? no one will know," rich says, smiling brightly, his nose scrunching cutely. "no one's gonna find out about us."

the next morning, a woman walking her dog saw a foot sticking out of the brush on a local, lesser-known lovers' lane. when she went to investigate closer, she screamed and ran home as fast as she could, dog barking behind her. 

there were two young men, dead in the bushes, beaten and bloody. their eyes glossed over and a fly crawled on one of their faces. they were white as paper and cold as ice. 

they'd been sodomized and beaten to death with shovels and hammers nearby.  _ faggot  _ had been carved deeply into both of their chests. 

\--

richie adjusts his glasses and flips a page in his comic book, scratching his face. he and the rest of the losers club are hanging out in the clubhouse - a glorified hole in the ground basically. eddie is bickering with stan (again) about something unimportant. 

eddie scoffs, flipping stan off and then crawls into the hammock, moving richie's legs so he can sit comfortably. 

"you could've asked me to move," richie points out, looking at eddie over his comic book with magnified eyes. 

"i doubt you have." eddie puts his socked foot on richie's face, lightly tapping him with his toes. 

richie pretends to think. "yeah, you're right," he says, grabbing eddie's ankle. "stop that, jesus christ, are you eight?" 

twenty-seven years pass, and richie holds eddie, hugging him close as the cavern around them crumbles. he can feel the other losers grab onto his shirt and pull on his shoulders, trying to get him to stand. 

"w-wait, guys, we can still save him, i- we have to get him outta here-" richie stumbles over his words, scrambling to grab eddie's limp body. 

"richie, we gotta go, man." he hears over his shoulder and suddenly he's being forcibly pulled to his feet and dragged backwards. 

his own voice is lost to the rumbling on the cavern and he's still being dragged backwards, feet scrabbling on the ground. he fights to be let go, but he can't break free. 

_ he's gonna be so scared when he wakes up, all alone down here, i need to get to him, i need to be there when he wakes up, i-  _

he blinks and he's outside, watching the neibolt house implode, crashing inward on itself. richie stops for a moment, watching the house crumble. 

he blinks again and he's at the quarry, sitting in the water, holding his glasses. they're blurry, but he can see red blotches. it's eddie's blood on the glass and he doesn't have the heart to wash it off. 

richie breaks down, and his friends circle him, hugging him tightly and trying to comfort him. it works, but only a little. 

"this is nice, buti don't have my glasses on, so i don't know who any of you people are," richie says weakly, getting a few tired laughs.

he feels bev the most. she was his best friend besides stan, who's… not here.he grabs her hand and squeezes, smiling gratefully at her. 

he can feel eddie though, somewhere. in his soul, he guesses, later that night, driving back home. home away from derry. he can feel eddie's presence close to his heart, and knows that they'll be together again someday. 

that someday comes sooner than anyone would've thought. his friends are distraught reading his letters he sent to them. 

  
_ if you're reading this, that probably means i succeeded. please don't mourn me too much. i definitely don't deserve it. as to why i did this… you already know. don't worry though, i'm probably happy wherever i am now.  _ [unintelligible]  _ love you guys, see you in the next life. _


End file.
